


Fork

by vienna_waits



Category: due South
Genre: Canon - TV, Drama, Gen, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-16
Updated: 2010-08-16
Packaged: 2017-10-11 03:05:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/107652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vienna_waits/pseuds/vienna_waits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ray Vecchio is at a fork in the road when his father's ghost makes his first appearance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fork

**Author's Note:**

> First line challenge by vienna_waits  
> Title: Fork  
> Rated: G  
> Characters: Ray Vecchio, Pop Vecchio  
> Length: 523 words  
> Notes: A missing scene from the Pilot. Unbeta'd because I'm a schmuck and there's only two hours left until the deadline! First line is from "Wedding Traditions" by tealc_spoo.  
> Summary: "Pop," Ray sputtered at last, the leather seat making soft slithery sounds as he shifted right, his mind a jumble, "you're--this can't be--I gotta be dreaming or something."

Ray blinked.

And squinched his eyes shut.

And none-too-gently whacked his head on the steering wheel three times, feeling the Mercedes emblem press reassuringly into his forehead, before opening them again.

Pop was still right there, one meaty hand gripping the strap above the passenger door, still wearing that godawful blood-red leather jacket and his stretch polyester pants, dark eyes gazing steadily into his own.

"Hey, you got some kinda tic or something?"

Ray stared.

"Hey!" Pop waved his free hand back and forth in front of Ray's face. "Say something, you retard. I thought you'd be glad to see your old man, at least."

"Pop," Ray sputtered at last, the leather seat making soft slithery sounds as he shifted right, his mind a jumble, "you're--this can't be--I gotta be dreaming or something."

"Nope," Pop said, "it's me, in the flesh. Well, not really," he amended, "but close enough."

"Why are you here? Why now? You've been dead five years."

"I'm telling you to get out of this," and Pop's voice went lower, urgent, "before it's too late."

"Out of what? What are you talking about?"

Pop jerked his chin in the direction of the Vietnamese joint. "That guy in the hat--he's trouble. Big trouble. You don't want to get tangled up with him."

Ray expelled a breath, his forehead creasing. "You mean he's crooked?" His eyes drifted down and away. "No. Not him. No way. A little crazy, maybe," he added with a chuckle, "but hey, I'm having a mano a mano with my dead father!"

Pop let go of the strap and turned in toward him, jabbing the air with his ghostly pointer finger. "He's a real do-gooder. Don't stick your neck out for him, or you'll be sorry."

Just like old times, Ray felt the anger seething forth. "You can't tell me what to do any more," he shot back, his voice rising. "The Mountie saved me from IA when he didn't know me from Adam. He's a decent guy who just lost his father--who was a Mountie, by the way, not a semi-professional souse like you--and he needs my help."

"God, you haven't changed a bit," Pop sneered. "You go out of your way to spite me every chance you get--even as a ghost, for Christ's sake! This is your final warning--stay away from the Mountie. Or you may be seeing me sooner than you think."

"I doubt we'll ever be in the same place," Ray seethed, "after everything you did to us--"

Ray blinked.

Pop was gone. Just as much as he had been there a moment before, now he wasn't.

Ray took a shaky breath and rubbed his hands over his head, straightened his collar, and took one last look. The Mountie was sitting at the front table by the window, intently studying something on the table in front of him. He looked out of place, lost. Alone.

"I'm going to help him," Ray said defiantly to the empty air. He swung out of the car into the chilly October night and shut the door a little harder than he needed to. "And you can't stop me."


End file.
